


i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

by blamelessfool



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamelessfool/pseuds/blamelessfool
Summary: He doesn’t know how long they sit there, not saying anything. They’re both too stubborn for their own good. Stubborn to the point of idiocy, Logan had said once to Kendall when they were in high school, and Stewy would never willingly agree with the old man but, well. There’s always a shred truth in his take downs.(or: late night conversations between emotionally repressed idiots)
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

Despite his best efforts to stay out of Brooklyn, Stewy had long since accepted his girlfriend’s desire to slum it with the commoners as one of her more annoying qualities. But he’s never been one to pass up a chance at something that might turn into a good time, even if it is a sketchy warehouse party, so he’s here.

His pulse is thrumming nicely, the just-right combination of coke and whiskey giving him a welcome distraction from the banality of conversation. He nods along, distracted, to a finance bro’s story about investing in some no-name tech company, and just as the boredom reaches mind-numbing levels there’s a clatter from across the party, a few bangs and the sound of glass shattering. There’s indistinct placating tones, then, clear even over the buzz of the room, “No, bro, I’m fine- no, really, I’m good!”

Stewy pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, of fucking course, Kendall would end up here, drunk and disorderly. Probably high, if Stewy knows him, which he does. Kendall’s disheveled form is struggling to stay upright, he sees through the cigarette haze.

 _Goddamn it._ He’s fucking tired of pulling Kendall out of these situations. He weighs the odds of the situation getting volatile, and the chances he could walk away without getting involved. The finance bro and the other drunk idiots turn towards the source of the commotion, and Stewy could slip out unnoticed if he wanted, maybe hit another line in the bathroom, but his girlfriend turns up before he gains control over his own feet.

“Stewart,” she says with a forced sweetness, a threating grip around his forearm, “your friend over there seems like he could use some help.” 

A few heartbeats pass in obvious tension, eyes following him.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he smirks, drawing relieved laughter.

Kendall spots him immediately as he strides over, weaving through the crowds jumping chaotically to another hip-hop remix and stepping carefully over the bottle Kendall had knocked over.

“Well, if it isn’t my main man Stewy!” he shouts, too loud, always too loud when he’s like this. Kendall pulls him into a clumsy embrace, and Stewy allows it for a full three seconds before pulling away, adjusting Kendall’s collar and patting him on the back. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees there’s a haziness in Kendall’s eyes, but not that wild, crazed look- just weed, then. Stewy can handle that.

“Hey Ken, how you been?” He works to keep his tone neutral. “Last I heard you were drying out in Malibu. What, they kick you out already?”

Kendall produces a 90-day chip from his coat pocket and wags it in his face, swaying slightly with the movement.

He grabs Kendall’s wrist to steady him. “'To thine own self be true,'” he reads. “Nice. Love the irony. Who’s dick did you have to suck to get that one?”

“Fuck off, Stewy,” he rolls his eyes. “I’m actually clean this time. I’m just having a good time tonight, just blowing off some steam.”

Stewy laughs, a little malicious, but it’s two in the morning and that’s the mood he’s in, his high starting to fade and the cloying mix of pounding music and the alcohol sitting in his stomach suddenly too much. He clinks their glasses together. “Well, cheers to that, bro.”

Kendall glares at him. “You know what? I know you don’t believe me. But maybe if you had actually been there like a friend you would know how good I’ve been lately.”

He’s gotten loud again, and Stewy feels the attention on them, the girls sitting on the counter not even pretending like they’re not eavesdropping. He swears internally. Kendall’s never had a sixth sense for potential PR nightmares, not like him. “Can we talk outside, Ken? Can we do that?”

“Sure dude, whatever,” he shrugs and downs his drink, following him without a second thought, elbowing their way through the winding hallway and out into the night.

* * *

It’s not hard to convince Kendall he should take a cab back to Manhattan, but Stewy really should have known it wouldn’t have been easy. Kendall never makes it easy. He ends up half-dragging him down the sidewalk after he insisted they get out and walk the last three blocks, an arm slung around his shoulders. Kendall’s huffing is the only sound on the deserted street until he throws himself to the grass in an awkward tumble.

“I’m just gonna sit down for a little bit.”

“Dude come on, it’s like, ten feet away!”

“Why don’t you just, fuckin’, leave me here and let the vultures get me,” Kendall says, closing his eyes and leaning against the brick.

“You seen many vultures on the Upper East Side lately?”

“You mean besides you?” Well. He set himself up for that one.

“Yeah, well, takes one to know one,” Stewy says lamely. Kendall doesn’t snort, like he might have when they were kids, just shakes his head as Stewy settles next to him without another word.

The moment stretches on as they both stay quiet, Stewy determined not to make the first move. If he says nothing, Kendall will lose patience and blurt out whatever’s on his mind. In his experience it works about 80 percent of the time, and he likes those odds. He stares resolutely at the wet pavement, the streetlights, the small shards of broken glass- anything but look at Kendall’s face. He fishes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, waiting.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, not saying anything. They’re both too stubborn for their own good. _Stubborn to the point of idiocy,_ Logan had said once to Kendall when they were in high school, and Stewy would never willingly agree with the old man but, well. There’s always a shred truth in his take downs.

When Stewy’s impatience wins out, he risks a glance towards Kendall. His face is unreadable, turned away, but he recognizes that he’s shivering, his suit jacket having been lost somewhere between the elevator ride and the cab. He unthinkingly shrugs out of his own jacket and places it around Kendall’s shoulders before he even realizes what he’s doing.

Kendall turns his head into the coat. Stewy pretends he doesn’t see him inhaling the scent, and pretends the sight doesn’t warm him somewhere distressingly close to his heart.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks. Stewy’s already so far gone, might as well be all in. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck, man,” Kendall just laughs. “It’s all just too fucking much.”

Stewy stares until Kendall meets his gaze. _His dad, his sobriety, his divorce, or the general shitstorm that is the Roy family business_?

 _Take your pick_ , Kendall’s eyes seem to say, until the stare lasts too long and Kendall looks away, blinking.

“I just wish…” Kendall starts and trails off. Stewy knows he’s trying to get the words right to explain it to him, gauging Stewy for any reaction. “I just wish I could get the fuck out of here,” he murmurs, his face wet.

He nudges Kendall’s shoulder with his own, gently, but still feels his warmth.

“Hey, remember that time we were kids and we were going to run away?” It’s all he can think to say, and he has to say something, before Kendall starts spiraling to a place Stewy can’t talk him down from.

“Weren’t we always?” he says. Kendall’s right; there were always fantasies of running off together- they’d go back and forth for hours, imagining their lives away like it was nothing.

“No, I mean when we tried doing it for real?”

Kendall lifts his head from where it was tipped back against the wall.

“We stole your dad’s car and took it to some gas station and got fucked up and stole, just like, the worst possible shit? Not even good food, like some off-brand Doritos, or whatever the hell, and we kept having to stop running because we’d drop something every few feet?”

Kendall’s scrunches his face. “Yeah?”

“Shit man, that was like, one of the greatest nights of my life,” he says laughing. “For real.”

Kendall twists his whole body to face him. “Dude, seriously? That was the night I found my parents were getting divorced.”

“Yeah, and it was a great night. Tons of fun. Easily top ten favorite memories for me.”

“I don’t even know where to start with that.” He shakes his head. “But yeah, that’s one of my favorite memories too.”

It’s hard to see in the soft glow of the streetlights but he thinks Kendall’s face has softened. The cold brought some pink to his cheeks, making him look more alert, less ghostly pale. The wind picks up around them again and Kendall leans more firmly against his side before he pulls the cigarette from him, their hands brushing briefly, and he takes a long drag before he speaks again.

“You know, didn’t have to get me out of there tonight.”

Stewy starts indignantly. “Listen, asshole, people were two second away from filming and blasting your drunken ass on Twitter.”

“No, fuck off, I’m _thanking_ you, this is me thanking you,” Kendall says, rubbing his hands together. “I’m saying you didn’t have to, but you did. I know it can’t be easy to see me like that. We talked about that in rehab, how hard it is for people close to you to see you…not yourself.”

 _Then why do you keep doing it?_ He wants to ask.

“But I’m-I’m doing better, I want to be better. I promise it’ll be different this time. You’ll see that, if you stick around,” Kendall says, darting glances at his face.

 _Yes, no, I don’t trust you, I love you, fuck you, you're my best friend._ There’s a tangled web in his chest, one there’s absolutely no sorting through tonight; not at three in the morning and definitely not with the way Kendall’s looking at him, like he holds the world in his hands.

“Ken,” he starts, before realizing he doesn’t have anything helpful to say. “People don’t usually want to hang out with me after rehab. I’m more of a before-rehab friend,” he manages to get out and hopes it comes across as nonchalant. Kendall huffs a laughs at that and doesn’t call him on the strange, false quality of his voice.

“I missed you.”

Stewy takes in a quick breath, then a slow one.

“You know I, uh…” Kendall clears his throat. “ You’re the only person I- I….”

“I know, Ken.”

Stewy’s hit with an unexpected, sudden wave of desire and it almost knocks him over how badly he wants to kiss him. But they don’t do that, their unspoken rules don’t allow for anything outside of dark bedrooms and club bathrooms, and he doesn’t want to ruin this strange, fragile moment between them. He settles for grabbing Kendall’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, quick, before he changes his mind.

When he moves to pull his hand away, Kendall closes his fingers around Stewy’s and squeezes hard before pulling his arm around his shoulders. Kendall closes his eyes and tips his head back again with a contented sigh.

Stewy’s dimly aware that he’s fucked. So, so fucked.

It’s far past time to go to bed, Stewy’s freezing and he wants to be back in his apartment, but it’s a long time before either of the moves again. Eventually, Kendall tries to hand the forgotten cigarette back, but he waves it away. “You finish it.”

Kendall’s lips just curve into a wry, knowing smile. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, Stewy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Taylor Swift's "Cardigan," because I'm trash like that.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. Bonus points if you caught the line I borrowed from Bojack.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @blamelessfool


End file.
